Orchestra of Blue
by Mir
Summary: A reluctant professor, an eccentric auror, a temperamental animagus, and bits of unsolved mystery like mirror fragments scattered in the dark. Essentially it's RLNT, the Order, back story, and other mysteries along the way. [mostly canon timeline to DH]
1. Prologue: Fly by

**Title: Orchestra of Blue**  
Author: Mir  
Date: August 2, 2007- October 27, 2007

_Disclaimer: I make no claim to any of the Harry Potter characters, its storyline, or its overall  
universe. I do not write for compensation; I do not hold any copyrights; this is purely a hobby  
that I pursue for personal pleasure._

--

**Authors Note**: This, as you may guess by reading my profile, is my first _Harry Potter_ story. It  
will be RLNT-centric with a decent dose of other characters on the side.

--

**Prologue: Fly-by** (August 1993)

Late summer, London: The daily highs continued to break records—a heat spell so intense that muggles seemed to drip into shapeless puddles on the sidewalk. Sweat glistened, feet dragged, and anyone without air conditioning baked inside their homes like biscuits. In such conditions, only a fool would wander about without purpose or destination. And yet, as the sun began to wane one certain Thursday evening, a single lonely figure shuffled slowly down the road. He paused at the occasional storefront, hands buried in his pockets, expression somewhere between contemplative and bored. To the casual onlooker, he was clearly engaged in one of life's most useless activities: window-shopping.

The last sparks of daylight slanted off the storefront glass, and crickets like mini-orchestras pulsed their melodies into the humid air. Dusk fell steadily into twilight.

"Ice cream," he murmured as he peered into a brightly-colored parlor bustling with sticky-fingered children laughing and shouting nonsense. "There's nothing as perfect on such a hot summer evening." He shook his head wistfully and smiled at the innocence of muggle flavors—bland yet somehow endearing—and couldn't help feeling sorry for those non-wizarding kids who would never experience ice cream's full potential.

It had been a week, maybe two, since he'd received _the offer_. He'd refused it outright at first—politely, then insistently. But Dumbledore had managed to say all the right words to appeal to the cherished memories of his youth, and in the end, there'd been no question as to whether or not he'd agree to return to Hogwarts. 'Perhaps,' he'd thought to himself, 'Dumbledore is always so compelling because no one ever turns him down.' Or maybe it was just the simple kindness in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice that finally crumpled Remus's resolve and ended his self-inflicted exile.

Although he'd given Dumbledore his word that day—which, for a wizard, is as binding as any muggle signature—the formal contract arrived by owl the following morning. The writing was, in typical Hogwarts fashion, overly elaborate considering the simple message it conveyed. The recipient's name, inked at the top of the scroll in a grandiose flourish of swirls and dots, presided over his new title, etched below in perfectly slanted lines.

**_Remus J. Lupin_**_  
Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Its duty completed, the owl had quickly fled away into the morning haze, leaving the new professor alone with an empty flat, lukewarm tea, and the crazy realization that the unthinkable had become reality—that he'd be returning to his beloved alma mater, this time at the front of the classroom. The thought was wonderfully exciting, exhilarating, uplifting… and at the same time, simply terrifying.

In the ensuing days he often found himself unwittingly drifting into fond memories from the summer before he returned to Hogwarts as a prefect. Ambling from day to day in a flutter of nervous anticipation, like then, he both yearend for and dreaded the official start of term.

But that night, as he walked along the store-lined streets filled with muggles and muggle things, the residual anxiety drained away like water from a sieve while as his breathing fell into the steady rhythm of passing traffic and shuffling feet.

'Muggles, for all their shortcomings,' he mused, 'sometimes dream up the most ingenious footwear.' One would think, after all these thousands of years, that shoes would be relatively intuitive things. After all, it's not as though the shape of the human foot has changed significantly in recent history. He paused on the corner beside the run-down vacuum repair shop with the droopy striped awning and leaned his shoulder against the dirty glass to watch a pair of teenagers zigzag toward him up the street. Lights, glowing white and blue with every step, pulsed rhythmically from the heels of their sneakers. 'Was it really possible, without magic, to achieve such a pattern?' he wondered as the shone bright against the dark smudge of sidewalk

Years later, he'd look back on what happened next with a certain nostalgic fondness. At the time, however, it was hardly anything memorable. She'd appeared from somewhere behind him and flew across his path, their shoulders separated by just a fingers-width of air as her head, for a brief moment, obscured his vision—bright violet, practically glowing. 'Definitely not a shade achievable through dye, even the more obscure wizarding varieties.' He couldn't help but stare as she dashed past the kids in sneakers, narrowly missed the street lamp, then careened around the corner past the mailbox and battered fire hydrant. "Kids these days," he'd muttered to himself (perhaps already subconsciously adopting a proper professorly mindset).

He shook my head at what he was quick to label the "folly of youth," and returned to his more sedate amblings with the erroneous conviction that even with _you-know-who_'s disappearance, the adults, himself included, were somehow allowing the world to gradually fall apart. Little did he know that strangely-colored hair and odd blinking footwear would be the least of his worries in the coming years.

There was little left to do that evening besides a short detour to the grocery, a solitary dinner, and an early night's sleep. The full moon was fast approaching, and Remus knew that he'd only have a day afterwards to prepare himself for the Hogwarts start-of-term banquet.

Dumbledore, it seemed, had thought of this before he offered Remus the position because after the latter had finally acquiesced, the headmaster had suggested—as though it were the most natural of things—that he send his luggage to the school beforehand and ride on the Hogwarts Express with the students. "You'd be of service," the headmaster had said without a trace of sarcasm, "if the Express were to encounter any difficulties along the way." And so it was decided. And there was nothing left to do but wait.

--

**End Notes**: This prologue is just that—It's not a full chapter and is (more than usual)  
admittedly scattered and plot-less. Think of it as an appetizer for a main course that is  
yet to come. I promise that later parts will actually be coherent :-)

**Supplemental Note**: Again, this is not a new chapter but rather a re-write of a chapter  
published in August 2007. I will be going through this story and changing all chapters  
to third person. Apologies for the inconsistency during this process.

--

**Chapter One Teaser**:

'_It happens to the best of us_' he sighed as he treaded silently up to the Ministry's ornate entranceway. For what person can say in complete honesty he's never found himself at this or that function and wondered why,_ in the name of Merlin_, he'd ever bothered to come in the first place. This particular reception, Remus was sure, would undoubtedly be one of those affairs.

10.27.07

--


	2. Chapter 1: Two by Two

**Title: Orchestra of Blue**  
Author: Mir  
Date: August 2, 2007- October 29, 2007

_Disclaimer: I make no claim to any of the Harry Potter characters, its storyline,or its overall  
universe. I do not write for compensation; I do not hold any copyrights; this is purely a hobby  
that I pursue for personal pleasure. _

--

**Author's note**: Here's the first real chapter for your reading enjoyment.  
A hearty thanks to everyone who read the first installment. By the end of  
this one, you might still be wondering whether or not this piece has a plot.  
But I've charted out the first few chapters, and (at least to my eyes) it at  
least has some direction. In retrospect, I think this ended up being more  
background information than anything else…. oops.

**Supplemental note**: As I said in the prologue notes, I am going back  
though this story and changing it from first person POV to third person.  
I'm also making some substantive edits, though the plot will remain  
essentially the same. Apologies for the long delay 10/29/07

--

**Chapter One: Two By Two** (December 1994)

'_It happens to the best of us' _he sighed as he shook his head at the overly ornate grandeur of the Ministry's entranceway. For what person can swear in complete honesty that he's never attended this or that function and wondered why, _in the name of Merlin_, he'd bothered to show up in the first place. This particular reception, Remus was sure, would undoubtedly be one of those affairs.

When the envelope had arrived (edged in gaudy gold and bearing that distinctive Ministry seal), he'd eyed it with curiosity and anticipation. After all, it's not every day that a poor, half-blood professor is invited to high-class (and expertly-catered) Ministry of Magic events. He'd thanked the little owl who appeared anxious to be on his way and read the address twice to make sure it hadn't been mis-delivered.

_Mr. Remus J. Lupin, it is our pleasure to cordially invite you to the annual Ministry of Magic Christmas Reception held in honor of this year's graduating Auror class…"_

Clearly, there had been no mistake. 'But why?' he wondered as he dropped the oversized card down onto the table. '_Perhaps it's just one of those _perks of the job_ that no one bothers to mention until…they suddenly drop in by owl_.' He smiled in amusement. Most of the students had already left for the holidays, and as he had nothing better to do on a lonely holiday evening, with a flick of his want he RSVPed to his first into _high society_. All things considered, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The doorman was short, stout, and in need of stronger glasses. Squinting over the half-oval spectacles, he frowned distastefully as though offended by his guest's very presence.

"Name please," he prompted with all the warmth of a Gringotts goblin.

"Remus Lupin," the other replied.

The doorman pretended to compare the response against the guest list clutched tightly in one sweaty hand, but it was clear that his gaze merely floated up and down the lengthy scroll as though he couldn't be bothered with such a mundane task. _'Probably just an unlucky desk-warming bureaucrat who pulled the short straw this year,' _Remus thought as he shifted from foot to foot.

"Affiliation?" At the question, Remus clenched his teeth and reminded himself of the virtues of patience and civility.

"Hogwarts," he answered as he stared over the other man's shoulder at the ongoing festivities. '_Wouldn't a simple spell above the door have been a better way to keep out unwanted riffraff?'_ he wondered as he dismissed the Ministry's attempt at the _human touch_ as a cumbersome anachronism.

"Enjoy your evening, Professor Lupin."

Nodding at the lackluster welcome, he ventured hesitantly into the main hall filled with swirling dress robes and glittering chandeliers. Of course the Ministry would take something as simple as a holiday party and turn it into a ridiculously elaborate affair. The new aurors—although the title wouldn't officially be theirs until after they'd completed their half-year apprenticeships—were conspicuously uniformed and remarkably sober considering the volume of alcohol available for consumption. Perhaps they'd been told to abstain until after their formal presented to the guests.

As he watched them float from group to group, diligently making small talk with important figures and networking with community figures for the sake of career, he couldn't help but notice their youth. '_Why, they're no more than kids'_, his mind protested. '_Are these the wizarding world's new protectors_?' But the Marauders hadn't been any older when they'd first joined the Order all those years ago… He quickly pushed the memory aside. The present was no place melancholy thoughts of the past.

Thus lost in thought, it was a bright flash of color that caught his eye—out of place against that hideous dark prune hue that seemed regrettably to be all the rage that winter—it was bright violet, like…something he'd seen somewhere before. It dipped behind a pillar near the punch bowl, then veered off starboard toward the desserts. '_Why was it so familiar?_' A velvet feathered hat obscured his vision, and for a moment he lost sight of his target.

"Ugh, my bad. I'm really sorry." He stumbled at the impact, hands instinctively reaching out to grab whatever, whoever had knocked him backward. It… she apologized repeatedly as they disentangled themselves and drew back a step for damage inspection. "…so clumsy, always bumping into things and such…"

His heart skipped a beat as he raised his eyes. '_Ah, violet_.' She clutched what had been a full glass of punch in one hand, a small plate still bearing a multi-layered chocolate confection in the other.

"_Accio_ napkin," he muttered, open hand aimed in the general direction of the table to his right. It was one of those useless paper cocktail-sized ones. He summoned another and switched the first for her empty punch glass before she had the opportunity to drop anything else. She half-smiled, half-grimaced, and began to dap dejectedly at the stain on her auror's uniform.

"Everything was going so well tonight," she remarked, wiping a splatter from her cheek. All Remus could see was a tumble of spiky, purple hair. "I knew it was too good to be true." She pulled out her wand (_a good length for her, well-balanced_, his subconscious interjected) as she placed the chocolate on the adjacent table. "Well, I guess some cleaning would be in order."

Remus nodded in agreement—every good wizard knows that it's never advisable to point one's wand at one's own chest and start incanting spells—and reached inside his robes to retrieve his own wand as well. At the motion something in her expression changed… a hint of confusion, then realization, and finally curiosity.

But she said nothing until they'd positioned themselves a comfortable distance apart, wands each raised at the ready. "On my count then," she began. "3, 2, 1—_scourgify_!" He noticed with the critical eye of a teacher that her aim was steady and her execution precise, without a trace of residual discoloration. But who would have expected anything less from a Ministry auror?

"Earlier," she began, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork because she replaced her wand and set about absently-mindedly smoothing her robes, "those napkins—" She paused, as if unsure whether to continue. "—you weren't using your wand." It was both a comment and a question.

After a pause, Remus nodded reluctantly, unsure of where the conversation was headed.

"It's not that they don't teach that kind of magic in school," she continued. "But most people just never use it in daily life…" She looked intently at him, really studied him for the first time since their chance meeting. "You don't really seem the type—" (his often-wounded self-esteem was sure she'd finish the sentence with '_who'd be able to pull that off_') "—who normally comes to Ministry events."

Remus blinked in surprise and could tell by the change in her expression that she thought she'd offended him. So he reminded himself to smile—that teacher's pet sort of smile that Sirius had always teased him for—and hastily reassured, "You're right about that, I'm afraid." He shrugged to show that he wasn't in any way offended. "This is my first."

She squinted, looking him in the eye as the corner of her mouth began to pull upward into a smile. "Then you're not from one of those stuffy old families," she said in a way that suggested approval. "But I've a feeling you know more than the average wizard about magic above the ordinary levels…" There was something almost scientific about her appraisal. Yes, definitely some of that Ministry training kicking in. "I wonder…"

"…shall I end the suspense?" Remus interjected, beginning to blush awkwardly under her scrutiny. Perhaps he was worried that if she looked too closely she'd see through to his real secret—his 'furry little problem' as the Marauders liked to say. He didn't wait for her to reply. "I'm just your average Hogwarts professor, new this year..." The words sounded odd to his ears, as though even with a semester solidly behind him, they still didn't quite fit.

From her silence, he though for a moment that she didn't believe him, that she was going to laugh and reply, '_That's a good one. Now really, who are you?_' But to his relief, she simply nodded and with unexpected insight commented, "You must be their new defense against the dark arts professor." She laughed, but he was sure this time that it wasn't at his expense. "The Ministry invites all the Hogwarts professors, but only someone new to the job would come to something as boring as this." She paused for a moment, then continued, "correct me if I'm wrong, but you look too sane to be truly enjoying yourself."

'_Yes, insightful._' Perhaps he'd underestimated the Ministry's recruitment skills. After all, the bureaucracy couldn't very well be incompetent in everything it touched. "I don't suppose this is exactly your type of affair either," he replied, allowing himself a small smile in return. '_Sirius_,' he memory noted, would have been flirting madly by now, of that much he was sure….

She crinkled her nose in distaste. "I've been subjected to my fair share," she replied in a vague, almost avoidant manner as her eyes wandered across the room. "And I've learned not to judge people by their looks." It was an odd statement in context, a non-sequitur of sorts. "Some of the gentlest actually turn out to be the most frightening."

Remus's breath stuck in his chest, and he froze as though he'd been_stupified_. Had she guessed?… but her expression remained neutral enough, so, careful to keep his voice light, he ventured "—and I don't look frightening to you?"

She smile, shrugged, and smoothly countered, "Sorry, Professor. You'll have to try harder."

His mind, still absorbed with relief, barely noticed as one of her friends waved to her from across the room, and his half of the parting pleasantries fell somewhat short of completely coherent. But he doubted that she noticed as she dashed off, and it only occurred to him afterward that they hadn't even exchanged names. Not that it mattered, of course. She was right about one thing at least—this would be his first and last Ministry function for some time to come.

--

On his way home from the reception, perhaps against his better judgment, Remus stopped by his father's house. He'd learned over the years that it was better to arrive unannounced—minimized pre-meditated resentment. But their relationship had improved to the point that a drink or two and an hour of small talk was relatively harmless. He_apparated_ as he always did to the great gnarled oak in far corner of the yard.

"Remus, I didn't know you were going to stop by." His smile was genuine enough as he greeted his son. "Are those your dress robes…?" He pulled the door firmly closed and reset the bolts with an off-hand flick of his wand.

"Ministry function," Remus replied quietly as he divested himself of snowy outer-garments in the coatroom. "One of those over-the-top Christmas things, you know." His father had worked briefly at the Ministry before Remus was born—a topic they generally avoided by mutual consent. "I thought I'd stop by to say hello before going back to school."

"You're staying at Hogwarts over the holidays?" Reynard Lupin couldn't quite hide that hint of hopefulness in his tone, or maybe Remus simply knew his father well enough to read it into the otherwise innocent question.

"Not all the students can go home," he replied, knowing full well that it was a weak excuse for not returning home himself. "Dumbledore asked for faculty volunteers to stay behind as well." He had no doubt that his father was aware that Christmas would fall on a full moon that year—and his current house had no place for a werewolf to transform.

Reynard nodded, seemingly satisfied with his son's response. "I'm going over to see some old friends on Boxing Day. You're welcome to come..." Remus could tell he was making the offer simply to be polite, and it only took him a moment to decline with equal grace. '_Old friends_' usually meant family acquaintances from the days before his mother left, and even if he'd felt up to it, his presence would have been awkward to say the least. Better to let the old-timers reminisce about their past among themselves.

"Well, since you're here tonight, will you stay and have a drink? It's almost Christmas anyway…"

Remus smiled as he followed his father into the kitchen—not the one he remembered from his childhood but nonetheless filled with all the things his mother had left behind when she'd taken his younger brother and disappeared one night into the French countryside. Remus had just turned ten at the time. He still carried a photo of the four of them together—a muggle one she'd taken with one of her antique cameras. She was a muggle after all. Reynard had never told him how they'd met.

Perhaps another man would have thrown out all the objects that carried memories of his wife, would have purged her belongings along with his heart, but Reynard, ever practical, had kept everything. '_What's the point of buying new dishes'_, he'd told Remus when they'd moved from the old house into the small flat shortly after her departure. '_You'll have to get used to your Mum being gone whether or not we get new china_.' It was left unsaid that they didn't have the money to be so wasteful.

But now he lived alone and didn't cook as much as he used to, so some of the kitchen cupboards, Remus noticed, were lined with odd knickknacks instead of dishes. He reached up and pulled down a small porcelain vase—white, decorated with tiny blue flowers feathered across its surface. Initials etched in small letters onto its base read _TMP_. "Where did you get all this stuff," he asked to his father's back as the latter fished around into the opposite cupboard for glasses.

"Went through some of the boxes in the attic last month," he replied in a tone that didn't invite further questions.

Remus replaced the vase beside a small figurine and nodded, not entirely sure what to say. By that time, his father had found what he was looking for, and as Remus followed him back out into the living room, he couldn't help but feel as though there was something strange about that shelf of objects, something his tired mind couldn't quite wrap itself around. He shrugged and pushed the feeling aside.

And despite everything, the tense moments, the awkward silences, He enjoyed himself that evening. Surely, time works wonders on family relationships…

--

**Endnotes**: I went back and forth on whether or not to include the  
second scene… then decided to throw in half of it and section off  
the other part as an inter-chapter interlude. As other FF writers have  
before me, I'm taking some poetic license with the Lupin family.

**Supplemental Note**: Again, this is a revision to a story begun in  
August 2007. When I finish revision the existing chapters, I do plan  
on continuing. Sorry for the delay!

--

**Chapter 2 Teaser**:

_The night Sirius arrived at Remus's flat—sporting striped Bermuda shorts and a deep tan—the latter had only just gotten in himself. It was a Tuesday, mid-June, about a week after the full moon. Remus hadn't seen him in months. Of course, the first thing he noticed as he wearily answered the door was an oversized black dog that promptly shoved his way inside and tracked mud across his carpet._

10.29.07

--


	3. Chapter 2: Gather

**Title: Orchestra of Blue**  
Author: Mir  
Date: August 2, 2007- October 31, 2007

_Disclaimer: I make no claim to any of the Harry Potter characters, its storyline, or its overall universe. I do not write for compensation; I do not hold any copyrights; this is purely a hobby that I pursue for personal pleasure. _

-----------------------------

**Author's note**: I'm replacing the note I wrote back in August  
because it doesn't make sense anymore. Now that I've finished  
revising the existing chapters of this story, hopefully I'll have  
time to continue deeper into the plot… 

-----------------------------

**Chapter 2: Gather **(Summer 1996)

The night Sirius showed up unexpectedly at Remus's flat—sporting green and brown striped Bermuda shorts and a deep tan—the latter had only just returned home himself. It was a Tuesday, mid-June, somewhat wet but pleasantly cool, almost a week after the full moon. Remus hadn't seen his friend in months. Of course, the first thing he noticed as he hesitantly peered around the edge of the doorframe was a rain-drenched black dog that roughly nosed its way inside and tracked large muddy paw prints across the carpet.

"Sirius," he greeted, tossing the dog a towel as its silhouette shifted smoothly back into human form, "welcome back" The other frowned, scowled almost as he set about drying his hair. '_So this isn't just a friendly social call_,' he noted to himself.

Sirius glared angrily at the floor, then dropped the towel to the ground between his feet. "He's back, Remus. _You-Know-Who_. Harry saw him."

Remus stared, not really believing what he'd heard. "What?"

"And Dumbledore…" The slight tremble in his voice was replaced with determination, eagerness almost. "…is resurrecting the Order." They had been original members all those years ago—Siruis and Remus and James and Peter—were among the youngest of Dumbledore's motley group. At first, Remus had been convinced they'd hinder rather than help the more experienced older cadre. Siruis had proclaimed the Order a grand opportunity for adventure (and of course snubbing his family). '_The Mauraders advance to the next level_'…or something like that. Of the four of them, James had been the one to talk of duty and obligation. It had taken them all a full three days to convince their werewolf friend to join.

"For years we feared the worst…" Remus murmured quietly, suddenly feeling more than a little weak in the knees. "…and now it's true." His mind never actually questioned whether or not Voldemort had actually returned. If Dumbledore had said as much, he'd accept the information as fact. "When will the Order meet?".

"He didn't say." Sirius plucked the towel from the floor, tossed it across the back of the sofa, and began to pace restlessly across the rug. "Told me to lie low at your place for a bit... if that's all right with you." Years ago he might have just announced his intention to stay over. But people and friendships change, and ten years stolen away is not as easily won back.

"It's no problem, Padfoot. This place is small, but…" Remus replied. The other flashed one of his classic smiles, and for a moment they were back at Hogwarts—two boys with wands in hand and nothing but adventures on the mind.

"Right, then. I'll crash on your sofa. It'll be just like old times." They'd shard a flat straight after school, a little third-story hole-in-the-wall with a kitchen the size of a closet and a row of broken laundry machines in the basement. But Sirius, feeling uncharacteristically domestic, had bought soft beige curtains, and despite the camped quarters, somehow that simple gesture had made it feel like home. "I can't believe you still have those ratty old curtains, Moony." He was looking past them now down onto the deserted street below.

"When I moved out of that apartment, I couldn't bring myself to throw them away," Remus replied with a shrug.

He'd thought the other would laugh, crack some kind of joke, and move on, but instead he turned around, eyes suspiciously serious. "Moony," he began hesitantly. "The 70's are long gone. We're not kids anymore."

'_Is he trying to counsel me about letting go of the past? __Sirius of all people?'_ Remus protested to himself, retort already forming on his tongue. But Sirius continued before he could respond. "Getting to know at Harry and the others…gave me a jolt. Kept seeing us at that age… memories and such just running around my head," he murmured, almost more to himself than to his friend.

"Marauders will always be Marauders. Whether alive or dead, together or apart—" The words sounded hollow even to Remus's own ears, but he knew a downward spiral when he saw one, knew the kinds of knots Sirius could tie himself into. "If the curtains bother you, it's no problem to take them down."

"No—" the other replied more forcefully than he'd probably intended. "I mean, don't do it on my account. It's nothing really. It's actually kind of cute of you to still have them. Classic Moony. I just…" He was rambling, trying to fill the empty space of years of separation and lives lived far apart. "..you know. It's just hard to let go." In truth, he'd been to Remus's place before and not commented on the curtains, probably didn't even notice them.

Remus nodded in understanding, half-smiled. "I'll make some tea," he replied at last, unable to keep his eyes from tracing the line of muddy paw prints back to the door. "Could you maybe…"

"Don't worry, just leave it to me," Sirius responded eagerly as if relieved for the distraction. They'd each turned their tasks when he called back over his shoulder, "And Remus, thanks for everything. Always."

-----------------------------

Word came by owl almost two weeks later. The note itself was cryptically brief and suspiciously unsigned, but to a trained eye, it was unmistakably Dumbledore's lettering. _"My office, Tuesday at ten. Are you eating well? Peppermints calm the digestion." _The ending, of course, was the password. Never really meant as a true security measure, it was simply a time-proven way of keeping unwanted visitors from simply waltzing in unannounced.

Even so many years later, Remus couldn't help feeling like a delinquent schoolboy again whenever he was summoned to the headmaster's office. This was hardly surprising given that the place itself never seemed changed. It had been almost a year since he'd last set foot in Hogwarts, a year since that grand experiment known as _teaching_ had ended in humiliation and resignation.

"You know why I asked you to stop by." There always seemed to be a glint of mischief in his eyes, a sometimes subtle hint of amusement. Remus stood before the oversized wooden desk—Dumbledore stopped trying to make him sit down years ago—and watched as the headmaster paced slowly back and forth beneath the portraits.

"I suspect it's about the Order," Remus replied.

"Yes, yes…" the other paused and nodded. "You were one of the original members, yes, you and the others." '_Sirius, James, and Peter'_, Remus's whispered. "Of course, I had my reservations back then inducting members so young. You four were barely out of school, if I recall correctly."

"…it was a time of great need, and we had to have to best we could find regardless of age," he continued. Remus blinked, realizing that he must have missed a few sentences while lost in thought. "Unfortunately, today is no different." Words left unsaid echoed around the room as if shouted _'Voldemort's return'_. But Remus was not among the unbelieving.

"We must resurrect the Order. Time is of the essence." He stood tall, palms pressed firmly on the desk's surface, eyes burning. "Most of the old guard have been notified." He abruptly broke eye contact, turned his head away. "Unfortunately, many have been lost…" Remus swallowed hard, forcing himself not to flinch. "I will send word when we are ready to reassemble."

He was in front of the desk now, leaning his back against it in surprisingly casual pose that brought forth images of the headmaster in his younger years—or at least how a former student imagined he might have looked as a younger, less-burdened man. "As we'll need younger members," he continued, arms folded across his chest, "I will be in consultation with Moody regarding the graduates of last year's Auror class." At the comment, Remus nodded, remembering that he'd seen them once at that horrid Ministry Christmas event during his Hogwarts tenure. He had only really left with a positive impression of one.

And he couldn't help but notice that Dumbledore had absentmindedly plucked something off the surface of his desk while talking—a painted Japanese fan of sorts—and was tapping it rhythmically against his left palm in cadence with his words. "Remus, I'd like you to be a mentor of sorts. I'm sure I can trust you not to underestimate the new members." He nodded in a way that suggested_'meeting over'_ but held the fan out to his guest, handle first. "I received this from some self-declared admirer in Japan, but perhaps you'll find it more useful than I."

Accustomed to Dumbledore's eccentricities, Remus accepted the impromptu gift, and after exchanging parting words, descended from the tower. There was always something nostalgic about Hogwarts, something about its thick stone walls and animated portraits that didn't need curtains to feel like home.

-----------------------------

Remus was absorbed in one of his well-thumbed books when Sirius dropped the small strip of parchment, probably torn from the back of yesterday's_Prophet_, into his lap and instructed him to read it silently, memorize the words, then burn it. "We leave in five minutes," he called back over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bathroom. Tonight was the night—the night history would repeat itself, the night the Order would once again convene.

"Dumbledore said he finalized the member list on Thursday," he continued as the other listed to him with one ear, half-dozing on the davenport. It was almost half past ten, and he'd already put in a full day's work at the muggle bookstore down the street—restocking shelves, cleaning the display windows, and other relatively mindless but nonetheless tiring tasks. They'd both been more or less keeping a low profile since Sirius had resurfaced, but at least Remus could earn some income in human form. Dogs were not, generally speaking, employable.

"Um, right" Remus replied as he roused himself enough to take a glimpse at his reflection in the front hall mirror. Neither here nor there, but it would have to do. "Did he say how many there'd be total?" He'd long since given up trying to look his best for the sake of first impressions. After all, what's the point of excessive primping and preening if the target audience will never see you looking so good again? '_No matter_,' he thought as he ran a hand though his rumpled hair. '_Sirius's abolitions would, no doubt, suffice for us both._'

"Haven't a clue. We'll see in a minute." He returned to the living room looking more like the tastefully disheveled young man Remus remembered ('_Jus how had he managed to buy new clothes as a dog?_') than the haunted-eyed fugitive who'd dropped back into his life the year before. "Did you burn that parchment?"

With a half-smile Remus casually flicked the paper into the air, and it incinerated in a puff of blue flame. Sirius, well-versed in his friend's tricks, merely raised an eyebrow. "Show-off."

When they disapparated into the alley across from the old Black family home, the narrow space was already surprisingly crowded. "Hey ow." "Watch it." "Who just kicked me?" "Move over some, will you?" Disembodied protests drifted out of the artificial darkness, and if Remus squinted, he could just barely make out the fuzzy outline of half a dozen other people jostling each other for space as they waited for the Order's leader to arrive.

"Remus, is that you?" Judging by the voice, the elbow digging into his ribcage bellowed to one Molly Weasley. "Quiet. He'll be here any moment," an unfamiliar voice behind them scolded.

And then he was. Somehow theu all sensed it, and though Remus couldn't see more than an inch from his face, he could almost picture the headmaster's smile in the dark. A moment later his face was illuminated by a softly-glowing wand, and he turned toward Sirius, eyes conveying some sort of unspoken question, to which the latter nodded firmly.

What they witnessed that night standing silently shoulder to shoulder in the dark, was something most wizards could only pull off in their dreams. The _fidaelous charm_.

And somehow, as the magic cascaded like endless yards of glittering golden thread from the tip of Dumbledore's wand and enveloped all present in an indescribable warmth, it all looked effortless. And perhaps for him it was.

Sirius took the lead as they crept inside No. 12 Grimmauld Place in ones and twos. The muggles were oblivious, of course. As they passed across the doorstep, they could hear the telly blaring loudly from the second story of the house to the left. Inside, Sirius's place was a decrepit, disgusting mess. After years of neglect, the walls were draped with thick cobwebs, and dust like dirty snow coated every surface. There had been time in his youth when Remus would have given anything to see where Sirius lived—a _'real´_ old family establishment—it was only ironic, he thought, that his footsteps were now echoing along its dirty, abandoned halls.

"…oh, and that's the room I always hated. Too much snobbish self-promotion, never enough common sense..." Sirius's voice drifted back over the group as they followed meekly in his wake, kicking up dust with their shoes and trying not to sneeze. They all assumed he knew were he was going.

At some point Remus fallen to the back of the group, and as he tore his eyes away from his surroundings, a certain flash of color bobbed before him. _Deja vu_. Well, almost. Yes, definitely that same semi-familiar head of hair—but pink now instead of violet.

Following a haphazard house-tour (only because Sirius rejected room after room they came upon), the group finally settled in the living room—not because it was any cleaner than the rest of the house. It simply had the most seating. In the end, though, half the Order remained standing against the walls rather than try their luck with the mismatched pieces of faded furniture. Remus rested his head against the wall between Sirius and the oversized granite fireplace, hands in his pockets, every now and then stifling a yawn. He figured iIt would have been all too easy to fall asleep if he'd sat down.

_She_ was on the opposite side of the room between Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt, her attention fully devoted to Dumbledore who had launched into introductions. _'But surely,'_ Remus thought to himself, 'her gaze would trace around the room's circumference as Dumbledore introduced the members.'

"Next we have Nymphadora Tonks, one of the Ministry's brightest new Aurors." As Dumbledore moved on to the next member, Remus met her eyes briefly as she glanced hesitantly back at the other members, but there was no trace of recognition, no indication that she recalled their brief exchange a year and a half ago. '_Of course_,' Remus mused as the introductions continued, '_there was no reason why she should have._'

The meeting concluded in under twenty minutes—It seemed that no one wanted to inhale the dust for longer than absolutely necessary because when Dumbledore asked if there were any questions, not voice was raised. "Well, that should do it for tonight," he stated with a sideways glance at the grandfather clock. "It's late, and I know some of you have work tomorrow." Several heads nodded in agreement. "From this night forward, only members of this group will be able find this building. Please discreet when you arrive and depart. I will see you here at 4pm on Sunday."

One by one, two by two the Order departed until only a handful of were left. The "clean up crew" as Dumbledore had put it. They had until Sunday to make the place livable.

Sirius and Remus had retired to the dinning room and were staring absentmindedly at each other from across the once-elegant table, neither wanting to embark on any major cleaning projects at quarter to 11pm. The former traced spirals in the dust with his little finger while the latter half-closed his eyes and tried half-heartedly to remember a cleaning spell that would render one of the living room chairs safe for sleeping. With the two Weasleys still banging around in the kitchen next door, neither of them realized that they had company.

Sirius was the first to see her hovering hesitantly behind Remus's chair like a pale ghost in the doorway. "Nymphadora." His face lit up, and there was something about his smile that the other couldn't quite place.

She corrected him as if on instinct. "Just Tonks." And he laughed guardedly, as if sharing some kind of long-lost inside joke.

"Remus," he said in a tone usually reserved for recounting adventures, "let me introduce you to perhaps the only other sane member of my deranged family tree—Nymphadora Tonks, the metamorphmagus, my cousin, also known as Tonks."

She cringed almost unperceivable as though afraid he'd say something more revealing. That and she never quite met Sirius's eyes. He pretended not to notice. "And this, my dear Tonks, is the one and only Remus Lupin, old friend and Marauder extraordinaire. Also known as Moony."

"Moony?" she asked with curiosity. Remus no idea how much she knew, how much she'd been told about him, or worse read in the _Prophet_. It was too late in the evening to think clearly.

"It's a long story…" he quickly replied to preempt further questions. "…one probably better for another time." She took the hint and nodded as if in agreement, her eyes carefully trained on anything but her cousin to her left.

Sirius must have sensed this too because after a minute or two of awkward silence, he hurriedly pushed his chair away from the table and announced in a voice too loud for the space, "I think I'll see if there's anything eatable in the kitchen." He left the other two alone in the semi-darkness, two strangers with little in common and nothing particular to do.

Remus sighed, half out of nervousness, half out of frustration—'_so typically _Sirius'—and fished around for a question, any question, to break the ice between them. But coherent thoughts were elusive, and any semblance of whit escaped him. Eventually, he simply smiled and said with an apologetic shrug, "Well, shall we get to work?"

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**Endnotes**: There, that's it. Chapter two. Slightly longer than the  
previous chapter. Some parts I really like, others I'm not entirely  
satisfied with. But you win some, you lose some... Thanks against  
to everyone who's read this. It's my first foray into the world of  
HP FF, and I have to say that it's been enjoyable so far. Onward  
and upward [m

**Supplemental Note**: This is the last revision of the old content.  
Hopefully I will begin writing where I left off… I've had at least half  
the story planned out on paper collecting dust beneath my bed for  
the past two months. Blah.

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**Next Up**: Orchestra of Blue _the movie_ outtakes. Written for no particular reason especially–perhaps just to prove that I can write humor too…  
[10.31.07

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